


Burned

by Fyre



Series: A Little Kindness [11]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: Alternative Perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22756210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: "Az?” Tracy’s voice rang in his ear. “Love? Speak to me."Avery's lips trembled, the word catching in his throat like bones. "I've..." He took a shivering breath, cold and soaked and at another dockside, staring at cold bleak water and running away. "I've made a terrible, terrible mistake."
Series: A Little Kindness [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628107
Comments: 43
Kudos: 142
Collections: Slow Show Metaverse





	Burned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts).



> I've had this one sitting in my brain since my most recent re-read. Had to bash it out before it ran away.

_I’m in love with you_.

It was all wrong. It was all wrong and terrible and he’d ruined everything.

The kiss wasn’t– it hadn’t– it shouldn’t have meant anything, all those days ago. It shouldn’t have led to anything. It was a rehearsal. He’d tried and tried to convince himself of that for days and weeks at a time, tried to forget the way Anthony had crowded him against the door, the way they’d held onto one another, the unmistakable shape of their mutual erections through their trousers.

He’d tried.

Oh God, he had tried. He had tried not to get himself off in the bathroom, hunched over in the shower, imagining Anthony’s hand in the place of his own. He’d tried not to trace his fingers over those places were hot, hungry lips had nipped at his throat.

For God’s sake, he was meant to be a grown man, not a randy teenager.

He’d taken their time apart to cool down, calm everything. It was all a bit stilted and unsteady, but things were back on track. They were. They had been. Everything had been all fine and then he had seen Crowley in pieces, scrabbling to put himself together again, he’d seen him and– oh Christ, he’d got drunk and he’d…

Crowley had no idea how beautiful he was. He had _no_ idea. He’d come down, all unkempt and unsteady, hair still damp, that worn-to-transparent vest clinging to his skin, looking more ravishing and ravishable than Avery had ever seen him and Lord, all he’d wanted was to press him to the floor and to f–

Oh _God_ , he’d done worse. He’d… the poor man had just been used in the most terrible way and Avery had– he’d drunk too much and let his mind wander and his lip flap and now…

And now, he knew what it was to be taken apart by Anthony Crowley’s beautiful slanted mouth, to feel that hot tongue on his skin, to…

He staggered, reaching out to brace himself against the nearest wall.

 _I’m in love with you_.

No, no, darling, you can’t be. That’s not… it’s forbidden. Not allowed. Don’t touch what you can’t have. Don’t _love_ what you can’t ever have. You need better. You deserve better. Not… not this. Not me.

He stumbled on, soaked and shivering, heat streaking down his cheeks. 

He didn’t know how long he walked for. Didn’t know how far. Not somewhere he knew well, Belfast. Only the usual places. Not these streets. Not these waterways. Not the smell of….

Salt in the air, even through the rain, oil, engines.

Of course, he almost laughed at the bitter, awful irony. Of course.

He crept into a doorway, staring out at the quayside. Jump on a ship. Run away to… well, it was Northern Ireland. Probably to Scotland.

He groped in his pocket, digging out his phone with shivering hands. Sent a message.

[Are you up?]

The phone rang seconds later.

“Course I’m up, love. Everything all right?”

Avery’s face crumpled and he buried it in his palm, trying to piece it back together, trying not to fall apart. The sound that came out of his throat didn’t even sound human.

"Az?” Tracy’s voice rang in his ear. “Love? Speak to me."

Avery's lips trembled, the word catching in his throat like bones. "I've..." He took a shivering breath, cold and soaked and at another dockside, staring at cold bleak water and running away. "I've made a terrible, terrible mistake."

“Oh, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

He laughed sharply. “I drank too much. He– I– I _asked_ –” The sob clawed its way out of his throat.

“Breathe, pet, breathe,” Tracy said gently. “You know how. Remember. In and out. Deep breaths.”

She walked him through it, counting for him when he couldn’t, and he sank down to sit in the doorway, surrounded by cigarette butts and crushed cans and the stink of piss. Just like the old days, he almost laughed, sharp and bitter and hot on his cheeks.

“Now,” she said, when he wasn’t wailing like he had been back in the day. “What happened?”

So he told her. Told her about Crowley’s unexpected not-quite-heartbreak – “that little bugger! I’m going to go and write some nasty reviews on his Amazon page!” – and the state he’d been in and then the wine and then the vest and the bare lovely arms and his hair so soft and wet and his hand on his–

“Oh Christ, Az…”

“I know,” he said unhappily, ashamed of himself. Of all the things to do – of all the things to _ask_ of him, to do that, using poor Anthony’s emotional state, getting himself off on him…

He took a shaking breath and let it out again. “I’ve fucked everything up, Trace. I’ve– I can’t undo this. I can’t put the genie back in the bottle.”

She was quiet for a few seconds, then asked much more tentatively, “Do you want to?”

He frowned. “What?”

“You said he was up for it to, love. You said he wanted it as much as you did.”

Avery stared blankly out at the water. A light was bobbing there on the hull of one of the boats. Up and down it went with the roll of the waves. “No. I– it– Trace, I _can’t_.”

“Why not?”

Because he was Avery Fell. He was respectable and comfortable and _safe_. He was in a happy relationship with a well-loved woman. Everyone knew it. He knew it. He was happy. He was. He definitely was. Why risk that for the chance to enjoy a purely physical relationship with the man who knew him best?

 _I’m in love with you_.

Why not?

Why not…

Because it wasn’t– it couldn’t– they’d never be able to–

Because I’m in love with you too, but I _can’t_ be. I can’t.

“Az?”

“It’ll never work,” he whispered. “Trace, you know why…”

“No harm in enjoying a little fling, is there? You like him. He likes you. What’s the harm?”

Tell her, the voice at the back of his mind screamed. Tell her it’s more than that. Tell her it’s oysters and Hamlet and poetry books fished from the seabed. Tell her it warm hands at your throat, a crooked, slapdash smile that no one else sees. Tell her… tell her it’s love. Love in its worst and best and cruellest possible form, biting at your throat and tearing you open and leaving you to bleed out all over the floor.

“And,” she added, “you know you can trust him with it. He’ll look after you. Keep your secret.”

Avery nodded, wrapping his arm over his chest. God, it was so bloody cold, the rainwater soaking through his clothes. He could trust Crowley with anything. Everything. He… he could. Could tell him the truth about Tracy, the secret no one else knew.

Maybe they could try. Just… just something casual. A bit of a fling.

“Do you think I should?” he asked, his voice so small and brittle he could barely hear it himself.

“Everyone needs a good shag now and then,” she confirmed. “And I know you’ve had a crush on him for _years_. If he’s up for it, have some fun! What’s the harm?”

 _I’m in love with you_.

What’s the harm…

Hearts cut to pieces on secrets like shards of glass and bone, that’s the harm.

“He–” He swallowed hard, almost telling her Crowley’s secret – _I’m in love with you­_ – then gulping it down. “He doesn’t know about us. That we’re… you know…”

“I know, love.” She made a small, worried sound. “Oh, Az, you have to tell him. It’ll be tearing him up. You know it will.”

And he… hadn’t even thought of that. Anthony adored Tracy – adores her – and if he didn’t know the truth of everything, if he thought he’d hurt her…

“I’ll…” His heart jolted, as if it’s about to stop. And no wonder. Twenty years, he’d kept up the pretence, played the jolly heterosexual. And now, he’d licked his cum from Crowley’s mouth. There was no way to come back from that. Honesty. It had to be total honesty now. “I’ll tell him. Tomorrow. Face-to-face is… it’s better. I– it’ll be better.”

“See?” He could hear her smile down the line. “And you get to have a nice fling out of it. I bet he’ll give you a good seeing to, won’t he?”

Avery squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the back of his head against the edge of the doorway. Oh, it was such a bad idea. Terrible, even. They’d have to work together, but he had a terrible, awful, feeling that if they started, if they touched again, drawn together like moths to a flame, they’d never be able to stop until they were both burned to cinders.

“I-I’ll think about it,” he said.

“And you’re all right now? Feeling a bit calmer?”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. “Thanks, Trace.”

“Night night, then, poppet. I’m off for my beauty sleep. You do the same, eh?”

“Mm.”

He ended the call and sat there for a little longer, watching the rain drops dripping into the gold-sheened puddles on the dockside. Could it just be a fling, he wondered, when he was already willing to carve out his heart and lay it in Anthony’s hands? Would it… could it work?

Perhaps if they…

Not if they were working together. Not if they – not when they had to be face to face every day.

If – if he could wait. If they could wait…

Maybe they could… discuss it. Afterwards. Privately. With nobody else around. No one to see and judge and guess and be revolted. He touched the corner of his jaw, his throat, his lips, with trembling fingers. Like a brand, Crowley’s touch had burned and he wanted to burn himself again.

“Enough,” he whispered. Cold, stiff-legged, he got back to his feet. He was soaked to the skin as he walked away from the rolling boats on the curling waves, and let his aching body carry him home.


End file.
